Stumbling Down the Road
by Aimelee
Summary: This is the story of Arthur Kirkland, a 26-year-old businessman, as he single-handedly raises a young Alfred, all the way from potty training to the teenage years of sex, alcohol, and drugs.  Rating subject to change as Alfred grows older!
1. Chapter 1

AN: Oh my. I started another one. I wonder if I'll be capable of writing two different fics at once. I think this will be my main focus, though, so an update should come at least once a week. I hope. We'll see.

This takes place in London, but as I am not from London or anywhere in Europe, for that matter, there will definitely be differences in how things go there. I'll keep in things I know and I've tried researching some things, but it will be difficult for me to keep everything identical, so please bear with me. But if you have advice or anything useful, please feel free to mention it in a review or something. Anyway, on with the show!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters I have used. I wouldn't have to post this here if I owned it, now would I?

0o0o0o0

"Arfur! Arfur!"

"Alfwed! Alfwed!" Arthur repeated in a mocking tone. Alfred pouted and jumped up onto the couch, situating himself next to Arthur. The sofa was still slightly larger than he was, as he was a bit small for his age, so Alfred made it abundantly clear that it was not an obstacle for a big kid such as himself.

It had been three months since Arthur took the two-year-old into his care. His business partner, Allistor, and his wife had gone on a business trip to the south of France, doubling as a second honeymoon. On the way, the plane had a major malfunction whilst flying over the English Channel and went down. There were no survivors.

Arthur could still remember the day he heard of his best friend's death. He and Allistor had been very close friends, so he had known Alfred very well since his birth. Allistor's lawyers had needed a place to put Alfred fast. Allistor had no close relatives, and his wife was an only child with parents incapable of raising a toddler. Arthur, without having to think, offered to take the boy in.

The first few weeks living with Alfred had been horrid. He was still too young to explain exactly what had happened, but he attempted the best he could at dumbing it down while at their funeral. While he accepted it rather quickly, he was obviously confused about what death was. He cried often, calling for his mother. His attempts at comfort often made things worse. Arthur clearly didn't have a woman's touch, and as a single man, he didn't have many options. So he brought in a foreign nanny named Elizabeta, which was too hard for Alfred to pronounce, so he called her Lizzie. She came during the day when Arthur was at work or if he was away on business.

He glanced down at the toddler, curled up against his right side, completely focused on the television, which was playing some Saturday afternoon cartoon. Alfred looked just like his mother. He shared her complexion, her hair color, nearly everything. The only resemblance to his father was their mirrored eye color.

"Arfur!"

Only then did Arthur notice that Alfred was returning his own gaze. He looked up at him with his ever-present corny grin. Arthur gave him a half smile in return and put his arm around him, turning his attention toward the television. Alfred did the same.

Fifteen minutes later, Arthur noticed the breathing against his chest had slowed down considerably. He peeked down and noticed that those child-like, blue eyes were now closed, his mouth hanging slightly ajar. He smiled down at him. The boy looked so fragile and innocent, and even more so in his sleep.

Arthur lifted the small boy gently, trying not to wake him, and carried him over his shoulder to his room, which was only the guest room with a crib and a toddler bed replacing where the spare bed once was. Arthur had tried having him sleep in the toddler bed, but Alfred had too much trouble adjusting, so he had the crib brought in and placed next to the toddler bed for when he was ready.

Despite his efforts, on the way to his room, Alfred stirred, mumbling, "Arfur?"

Arthur patted his back gently and whispered, "Go back to sleep, Alfred." It didn't take much more than that to convince him. But once he attempted to lay him down, he noticed that Alfred was not about to let go of his neck.

Feeling affectionate, Arthur sighed and took the boy to his own room, laying down along side Alfred and stroking his hair, soothing him back into his deep sleep. But it didn't take long for Arthur to drift off with him.

0o0o0o0

Arthur awoke after what felt like only a few minutes to the sound of whimpering and discernible shaking. Alfred had tear streaks running down his face and was trembling rather violently. Arthur's immediate reaction was that he was hurt, but he quickly came to realize that he was still asleep and that he was merely having a nightmare.

Softly, Arthur nudged Alfred in an effort to wake him. After a few attempts, Alfred's eyes flew open and darted around a bit before landing on Arthur. He then proceeded to tear up, bottom lip quivering, and grab a hold of Arthur's shirt, burying his face into his chest, sobbing quietly.

Arthur petted his hair as he soothingly whispered, "Shhh, Alfred, it's all right. Everything is okay. I'm right here, don't worry. You're okay. Shhh." This was not the first time he had been woken up by Alfred's hushed crying, although usually through the baby monitor.

Alfred refused to loosen his grip on Arthur's shirt as he continued to cry. Arthur kissed his forehead and brought him close, curling around his small form. Recalling his old childhood lullabies, he began to hum "Hush, Little Baby" while rocking the boy in his lap.

After repeating the song three and a half times, Alfred eventually settled down and went back to sleep. Arthur felt terrible, knowing there wasn't much he could do for the child, but he did what he could. It was working for him now, but what would happen in the future? How would he answer his questions? It worried him, thinking about what he would have to tell the boy in the future. But, looking down at his calm face, he decided to push those worries out of his mind for the time being and to take everything as it came.

Arthur wiped the stray tears off of Alfred's baby-soft cheeks with his thumb, kissed his forehead one final time, and went back to sleep.

0o0o0o0

AN: Well, this is a pretty short chapter to start out with. I mostly just wanted to get the sad back story out of the way before I could move onto the wacky hijinx. But, I will warn everyone now, I am a sucker for sad stories, so be ready for a lot of obstacles for poor Arthur as Alfred grows. But, for now, we'll keep Alfred small and cute.

(Also, Allistor is Scotland, just an FYI to anyone that didn't know! Also, Elizabeta is Hungary. Just making sure everyone is clear, since I'm using human names.)

Leave a review if you enjoyed it! Especially if you have any advice!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Remember when I said that the next chapter would be out by the end of the week? Well, I was excited to keep writing and ended up with this. I hope it's still good, I can't really tell myself, but oh well. This one's a little bit longer than the first one, but I intend to make the chapters a lot longer. I'm just having difficulty with the toddler years, so they probably won't be around very long!

Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed and alerted the first chapter. I was so surprised by all of the positive feedback. You guys really motivate me to keep writing to get you the next chapter. I hope you enjoy this one!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the character I use, blah blah blah, yada yada yada.

0o0o0o0

"What do you want to eat, Alfred?"

"Pancakes!"

"Alfred, I'm making dinner."

"Pancakes!"

"You had pancakes for breakfast this morning."

"Pancakes, pancakes, _pancakes_!"

Arthur watched the little boy at the table as he demanded his favorite food. How that tiny body managed to hold so many pancakes was beyond him. Any time Arthur tried to eat pancakes, he felt as if he had eaten a pound of cement after just one.

Arthur sighed and turned to grab his skillet. The things he did for this boy…

Soon, the smell of cooking batter wafted through the kitchen, making Alfred restless. And when Alfred got restless, he wanted to run. Sure, he wanted to run all the time, but even more so when there was food involved. The little boy was up and dashing around the table, continuously looping while chanting 'pancakes' over and over. Arthur watched over his shoulders and said, "Alfred, please sit down and don't run inside of the house. You'll-"

And right as he was about to say 'you'll hurt yourself', Alfred's foot snagged under the rug beneath the table and he went down, face first. Cursing under his breath, Arthur abandoned the stove, darted into the dining room, and picked him up.

But, typical Alfred, he went right back to running around. Arthur huffed, questioning the child and his sanity. That was, until the smell of smoke filled his nose. He turned toward the skillet, which he had neglected to take off the heat, only to find smoke clouding the kitchen. "Shit!" Just as hastily as he tended to Alfred, he rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the skillet. Slightly burning his hand, he threw it into the sink and turned on the water. Except that that only produced more smoke.

Cursing everything to hell, Arthur opened all of the windows in the kitchen and dining room in an attempt to clear out the foul smell. Exhausted, he sat in front of the table and put his head down.

Alfred, quiet from all of excitement, tapped Arthur's shoulder. Refusing to lift his head, he mumbled to the boy, asking him what he wanted.

"Arfur, what about the pancakes?"

It took all he had to remain calm. He was not born with the sense of patience his mother had. "Well, Arthur burned the pancakes. So there are no pancakes." Silence followed.

Arthur looked up at the boy, whose eyes were wide and shining, full of tears. Sighing, Arthur glanced at the clock. It was only a little bit past five.

"Okay, get your coat, Alfred. We're going out today." He knew he would regret those words.

0o0o0o0

Despite the fact that June was quickly approaching, it was unseasonably cold. Close to 9° C., Arthur and Alfred trekked down the street, bundled up in their coats. At least, Arthur tried to wrap Alfred up, but the little brat had taken most of it off before they even left the house. Alfred was always difficult when he took him out. Such as he was then. "Mommy!"

"Alfred, come back here!" Arthur called, as he ran after his toddler. He watched in horror as he ran right up to a woman, walking a Pomeranian dog, and grabbed her leg. "Alfred! I'm terribly sorry, miss. He's not very… shy." He understood now. This woman looked almost exactly like Alfred's mother.

The woman giggled. "It's alright. I understand. I used to have a toddler myself. Thankfully, he's six now." She glanced down at Alfred, who was now distracted by her dog. "Your son is adorable. He looks like you."

Arthur didn't know what to say to that. "Heh, yeah… he's not my son, actually. He was my friend's son, but I'm looking after him right now."

A grave expression crossed her face. She caught on quickly. It seemed she didn't know what to say, either. "Oh, I'm… I'm sorry."

Arthur merely shrugged it off. "No, it's okay. I see how you could assume I'm his father."

They both turned and watched Alfred with the pup for a minute until Arthur remembered they still needed to eat. "Alfred, we have to go so we can eat. Say goodbye to the puppy."

"Aw…"

The woman spoke up. "Alfred is more than welcome to come see Coco anytime he wants to. Coco always welcomes attention."

Arthur smiled. "We might just take you up on that offer, Miss…"

"Amelia. But most people call me Emily."

Arthur nodded in response. He bent down and grabbed Alfred's hand, pulling him up. "Say goodbye, Alfred."

"Byebye, Miss Emiwy! Byebye, Coco!" Emily laughed softly to herself and returned his goodbyes.

0o0o0o0

"Here are your menus. I'll be back in just a sec' to take your order!"

Arthur opened the worn menu and glanced at the specials. The old family restaurant that was located a couple of blocks down from Arthur's home had such a nostalgic feel, with its yellowing pictures decorating the walls and worn out old booths surrounding the room. From going in every day after school with his friends to coming in for a cup of coffee in the morning, he'd spent much of his life in that quaint little shop.

Alfred busied himself, coloring on the children's menu, which was a piece of paper that surrounded the menu choices for children with different puzzles and drawing space.

The waitress returned, her face lit up like a light bulb, and asked excitedly, "Do you two boys know what you'll be having?"

"Um…" Arthur looked at Alfred, who didn't even bother to look up at the waitress as she was talking. "I think that we'll have two fish and chips."

After she wrote down the order and left, Arthur watched Alfred color diligently on the paper. What do you talk about with an almost-three-year-old? Arthur was completely stumped.

A little boy, about Alfred's size, came waddling up to their booth. He watched Alfred scribbling with interest sparkling in his eyes.

"Matthew," Arthur heard a familiar voice call out. 'Oh, sweet Jesus, please no…' he thought as a blond man approached their table. "Well. Arthur. Fancy seeing you here."

"Francis. Long time, no see." Too bad it couldn't have been longer.

Francis bent down and scooped up his child, and said with a mordant tone, "Is this your son? I didn't know anyone would breed with you."

Arthur looked up at him, smirking, "I could say the same for you."

"Yes, meet _mon fils_, Matthew."

"Meet Allistor's son, Alfred."

Francis looked puzzled. "Allistor's son? Why do you have Allistor's kid?"

Arthur sighed and quietly explained to Francis the story. Francis listened without interrupting once. He stood in silence for a moment before he replied, "That really happened to him? _Merde_, I hadn't heard. I was transferred back to France a few years ago, but I recently was sent back here to take over a new branch." Francis being successful? No shock there.

Francis looked at the clock hanging over the door. "Oh, Matthew. We have to be home before it gets dark, don't we? Well, Arthur. It was nice seeing you again. We'll have to catch up again soon." Francis smirked as he spoke. Back to his sarcastic demeanor.

"Of course." As soon as Francis was out of hearing range, Arthur muttered, "Damn frog."

Not only was Francis a business rival, but he was also an old childhood enemy. He had tormented Arthur nearly every day of his life when they were in primary school. Allistor had been the only person to stand up to Francis for him.

After their food came (which Arthur had to help Alfred with), Arthur looked outside, only to see that it was beginning to rain. He hadn't thought to bring an umbrella. Hopefully it would pass before they left.

The rain had only gotten harder by the time Arthur got up to pay the bill. "Okay, Alfred, get up on my shoulders, okay? We're going make a run for it."

After Alfred had climbed up his back and was resting on his shoulders, his arms encircled around his neck, Arthur took off running. Alfred, absolutely enthralled by the height and the rain, giggled away above the Brit's head. It took a little over five minutes to get back indoors (even if he was small, Alfred was pretty heavy). He took off his shoes and brought Alfred into the bathroom, not about to let him get the whole house wet and dirty. He dried the toddler off before himself, not wanting him to get sick. "C'mon Al, you need to take a bath." Alfred's smile shrunk considerably at the word 'bath'.

"No!"

"Yes, Alfred. You don't want to get sick."

"No!"

"Alfred." Arthur sternly warned.

"_No_!" Alfred managed to squirm his way out of Arthur's already slippery hands and ran out the open bathroom door.

"Augh, Alfred! Get back in here!" Was he really about to chase a child around the house to get him to take a bath?

…Yes, he was. "Alfred!" Arthur got up and flew out of the bathroom, towel in hand. He caught a glimpse of the blond running into the dining room before he completely disappeared around the corner.

Arthur met him halfway in the kitchen and cornered him. He swiftly opened the towel and enwrapped the boy with it, then picked him up and threw him over his shoulder.

Back into the bathroom, door shut and locked.

The five minutes of bathing and twenty-five minutes of struggling were unbearable. He understood having a young aversion to bath time, but was it really that bad for the boy?

Once Alfred was dried off and dressed in his pyjamas, Arthur took him back to his room and settled him down in his crib. Alfred began to fuss, but Arthur pulled out the story he's read to him a million times: How Do Dinosaurs Say Good Night?. Dinosaurs were one of Alfred's favorite things, only closely beaten by superheroes. Even after seeing the illustrations thousands of times, the pictures still fascinated him into his dreams.

0o0o0o0

"Mr. Kirkland? I'm here!" Elizabeta called out into the house. A distant "come in" rang from the kitchen. Elizabeta closed the door behind her and rounded the corner into the kitchen. Arthur was sitting at the island with Alfred, cutting small chunks of banana into his bowl of Cheerios.

"Good morning, Elizabeta."

Elizabeta flushed slightly, and greeted him, "Good morning, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur turned to the little boy and rubbed his head. "I have to leave now, Al."

Alfred looked up at him, slightly mortified. "No!" He jumped down from his chair and clutched Arthur's leg.

This wasn't the first time Alfred had been afraid of him leaving. It had mostly occurred when he first started living with Arthur. He'd developed separation anxiety after the funeral was held. He ended up skipping work the first day Alfred cried and clung to him. Arthur thought that it was getting better, but perhaps the nightmare he had was bringing everything back.

"I'm sorry, Alfred. Don't cry. I'll be back when you wake up from your nap."

"No! No go!"

Arthur knelt down and brought Alfred into an embrace. "C'mon Al. You're going to stay here with Lizzie!" Elizabeta took that as an opportunity to kneel down alongside Arthur and take Alfred from him. They both stood up, Elizabeta holding Alfred on her hip. Arthur approached Alfred, who turned his head away, and kissed his forehead, whispering, "I'll be back home soon, Alfred. I promise." With that, Arthur collected his keys and left.

0o0o0o0

AN: And he never returned… Just kidding.

Fish and chips: the extent of my knowledge of England. I was so excited to bring France and Canada in (especially Matthew, because I love me some Canada).

Also, Amelia/Emily are both a couple of America's female names.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I'll get the word count up eventually. I promise. For now, enjoy your short chapters. Are you guys ready for a time skip? Because I sure am! I love little Alfred to death, but when he's only really capable of saying a few words at a time, he's not much fun to write for. Once he turns about six, I'll be going crazy with this. (Also, I want to try and make up for the last chapter. Not my best work. I tried very hard with this chapter, as getting back into the swing of things hasn't been an easy transition for me. But I'm trying my hardest for you guys!) Anyway, I'll quit talking and get to the part you care about.

Disclaimer: I am about 93.7% sure that I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters I have used.

**0o0o0o0**

Arthur never thought he would be in this position. If someone had told him that he would be calling Francis, the same Francis that once spread a nasty rumor involving him and a case of syphilis in primary school, to ask him what three-year-olds do for a birthday party, he would have died from laughter.

But there he was, phone in hand, unfortunately listening as the Frenchman laughed instead. At him. "He's three. You do what you would normally do, except you add in a cake. What does he like?"

"Uh… he enjoyed the time I took him to the beach. Something like that?"

"Take him to a pool. Closer and no sand."

Arthur paused, unsure of what to say. "And the cake. Do I buy one or make one?"

"It's the boy's birthday. Please try to refrain from poisoning him. I will make you a cake, almost free of charge."

Arthur scowled and furrowed his brows, thankful that Francis couldn't see him. It would just serve as more cannon fodder with repeating jokes of his eyebrows and how they somehow 'grew bigger the closer together they got'. "Almost free? What's the almost?"

"Well, I was thinking-"

Arthur interrupted him immediately. "Well you can stop thinking, you bloody perv. Be here at three." With that, he hung up dramatically.

**0o0o0o0**

The morning of Alfred's third birthday, Arthur was awoken by his bed lightly shaking before there was a small dip near his abdomen.

"Alfred? How did you… what… did you climb out of your crib?" Completely ignoring Arthur, Alfred climbed into his bed and situated himself next to the drowsy Brit.

Unsure about what to do with the situation at hand, Arthur decided to ignore it for now and picked the boy up under his arms and lifted him onto his lap. "So Alfred. Do you know what today is?"

"It's my birfday!"

"And what do three-year-olds do on their birthdays?"

Alfred looked at him, curiosity shining in his eyes. Instead of telling him, Arthur picked the boy up, jumped out of bed, and dashed into the kitchen, where he had set out the chocolate cake he baked with Francis (or the cake he _watched_ Francis bake, despite his protests). "They get a cake!"

Alfred yelped in delight, ready to grab for the dessert. Reflexively, Arthur backed away, leaving the cake out of reach from the toddler. Alfred whined, flailing toward the table in an attempt to break free from Arthur's arms. "You have to wait for the cake. But we're going someplace fun! It's a secret, though." Alfred glowered at him, disappointed. "First, the birthday boy has to have breakfast. Whatever he wants!"

Alfred brightened up immediately. "Pancakes!"

"How did I know?"

**0o0o0o0**

Right after Arthur set the plate in front of Alfred, the doorbell rang. He glanced at the clock, questioning who would come over at ten in the morning.

"_Mon cher_! You're looking very… Arthur-like this morning!"

Arthur slammed the door in the Frenchman's face, yelling through the wood, "Go away, you damn frog!"

Francis yelled back, "But _Mathieu's_ birthday was a few days ago! I thought they could celebrate together!"

"Well you thought wrong!"

In desperation, Francis added, "I baked you a cake!"

Arthur, going well against his best intentions, opened the door. With a large box wrapped up in paper on one hip and his child on the other, Francis had a cheeky grin plastered on his face. Opting to remain silent, Arthur left the door open and returned to the kitchen, leaving Francis to follow him.

Everyone sat in silence, save for Alfred's chewing, until Matthew spoke up. "_Papa_, I'm hungry."

"Sh, _mon fils_, you'll eat soon."

While the pervert and his spawn were the last people he wanted in his home, Arthur was still a gentleman. And gentlemen are polite to their guests. "I could make him something. Alfred most likely wants more, anyway." As if on a schedule, Alfred shoved the last bit of food in his mouth and nodded.

"I'm going to have to politely decline your offer. I rather like this child and I have the full intention of keeping him alive."

Arthur stood up and kicked the back of Francis's chair, causing him to jerk forward sharply. "Shut it, you bloody nitwit."

With more pancakes (and an unhealthy amount of syrup in Matthew's system), both of the boys were practically bouncing off of the walls, all of that sugar kicking in at once. Alfred yelled at Arthur, who was standing no more than a meter away, "Arfur, lessgo, lessgo!"

"Okay, okay Alfred. Go get your swimming trunks." Understanding immediately that that was the "special" place he had been talking about, Alfred grabbed Matthew's hand and dragged him along to his room. Matthew half-protested, reaching out toward Francis before disappearing around the corner.

Francis, not the least bit concerned for the physical or emotional safety of his child, questioned: "Is he always like that?"

"Some days are better than others, but generally, yes. That's how young boys are." Francis stared into the hallway the children disappeared in, as if they were still there.

Seconds later, Alfred, still holding onto Matthew's hand, rounded the corner with his Superman trunks in his fist. Arthur glanced over at Francis and questioned, "I take it you're coming with us?"

"Well, _bien sûr_!" Francis picked up Matthew, finally causing Alfred to let go of his hand, and settled the boy on his hip, ready to go. "This is also _Mathieu's_ birthday, _non_?"

"Whatever you say."

**0o0o0o0**

"Alfred, the longer you don't stand still, the longer you don't get to jump in the pool." Arthur stated curtly. He mentally swore, wishing the boy would calm for just five seconds so he could finish rubbing the cream into his back. It was just warm enough to tolerate being outside with minimal clothing on, but the sun was also bright and unhindered, threatening him with throbbing red faces and backs.

The pool was overly crowded, with the promises of rising temperatures later into the afternoon. It seemed that Arthur wasn't the only one with the idea to bring their child to the pool. The shallow end was littered with screaming kids, splashing around in the half-a-meter-deep water. Alfred was watching them, longingly, as he shuffled around impatiently. Arthur decided that was the time to add on, "And then you have to wait fifteen minutes for it to dry." Alfred groaned. "Don't complain. I could make you wait another half an hour, since, technically, you're not supposed to swim after eating."

"Oh, come now, Arthur. Don't be such a stick in the mud. It feels wonderful out," Francis exclaimed, kicking his feet in the water. He watched Matthew like a hawk as the little boy wandered around and giggled at his own splashing.

Arthur scoffed. "As if I'm going to take your parenting advice. Your boy is nearly see-through, he's so pale." He gestured to Matthew, who was almost invisible in the water. "He'll be burnt within the next five minutes."

"Oh? He has my genes in him. He will not burn as you say he will." Francis was playing on his French accent. It began harboring attraction from the housewives who were with their children.

Arthur turned away and sneered. The Frenchman's attire left none to the imagination, either. How he could go out in the presence of other people, and his son, in that bikini brief… thing was beyond him.

"Hm. We'll see." He turned back to Alfred. "If you promise to let that dry for fifteen minutes, I'll get you ice cream." Arthur knew that bribing was not the correct way to keep a three-year-old in line, but after some of his previous tantrums, he wasn't willing to risk it with so many people around. Alfred nodded energetically, running into the concessions line.

They stood there for no more than five minutes. The longer that they waited, the more people seemed to accumulate into the line. Alfred was getting too impatient and distracted. Arthur reassured him several times that they were close to getting his ice cream, but that didn't stop the boy from insisting that they get it later. Arthur agreed, hoping that the crowd would thin out eventually. He needed to make sure that Alfred stayed hydrated, especially as he felt the temperature gradually crawl higher and higher.

He now felt morally obligated to keep an eye on Matthew as well, as Alfred jumped in with the pasty child, surprising him with the sudden wave that overpowered him. Francis's attention had been turned to charming a young lady with her twin daughters.

Arthur, sick of his lewd display, sauntered over to where Francis was edging closer to the female and draped himself on his shoulder. He briefly pecked his stubbled lower jaw and rested his head on Francis's naked shoulder. "Dear, you have to help me with the twins." He gestured to the woman. "Who is this?" he questioned, glared at the girl as he spoke. She turned away, face flushing as she mumbled an apology and scampered off.

"_Merde_. Now why would you do something like that?" Francis pushed Arthur's face off of his shoulder.

Arthur immediately retaliated: "I am not about to babysit your child while you flirt with every female within a ten mile radius!" He turned back, dragging the Frenchman away by his ear that reminded him of his own mother (when had he turned into _that_). But the boys were not where he had left them.

"I would hope you're not babysitting him, since that would involve knowing where he is!"

"I am not taking care of your responsibilities!"

"Oh? Then where is _your_ responsibility?"

"That's not the point, you damn frog!"

"I think that is exactly the point-"

The young woman who had previously been entranced by Francis's advances coughed, battling her way in between them for their attention. "I believe these are yours," gesturing to the two small boys who were holding her hands. She leaned in and whispered, "And I'm sorry if I caused any tension between you and your… lover. I hadn't known."

Arthur instantly defended himself, snapping back, "He's not my lover!" But the young woman paid no attention as she returned to her toddlers.

Francis leaned against Arthur, the same way he had done to him, and claimed, "You brought it upon yourself." The Frenchman leaned in and nipped at Arthur's jaw. The Briton pushed him away and into the pool, creating a near tidal wave into the nearby children.

"Arfur, I wanna go on the slide!" Alfred pointed to the large yellow waterslide at the end of the kiddie pool. All four flights of stairs had people waiting in line for their turn.

"Are you sure, Alfred? That line is really long. You'll be waiting a while; a lot longer than you tried to for your ice cream."

"I can do it!" The child yelled, dragging Arthur along into the line of people.

The first five minutes, Alfred watched the others as they slid around the twists and turns before being tossed back into the water. After fifteen, he was getting antsy, gazing up the rest of the line. Half an hour of standing there later, they finally reached the front of the line. Just as Alfred was getting ready for the signal to go by the lifeguard, he was pulled aside by the golden brown teenager. "I'm sorry, kid. You gotta be at least this tall to go." He motioned to the sign that hung on the iron fence that read 'Am I Tall Enough?' with an arrow pointing to the top of a meter stick.

"We just waited in that bloody line for almost thirty minutes, and you're telling me he can't go?"

"I don't make the rules, sir." The kid backed away a step, not exactly sure what to do with the angry Brit.

Alfred clung to Arthur's leg, unsure why this stranger was telling him he couldn't slide down the slide. "Arfur, why can't I go?"

Arthur remained silent and turned his back to the teen. He picked up Alfred so he didn't lose him and had to practically shove against the crowd to get back to ground-level. He wasn't sure why he was so angered by being turned away. It would have been against the rules for Alfred to go, and Arthur had always been a firm advocate in obeying rules. But the look that had crossed Alfred's face was near-heartbreaking.

Arthur set Alfred down when they returned to their towels and belongings. "I bet that, by the time it's autumn, you'll be tall enough," he encouraged the young boy, who looked as if his spirit had been crushed. "Do you want to go and get your ice cream now?" The offer of his treat brightened his expression to a degree.

The line was significantly shorter since their first attempt through. After the long wait into the slide, the less-than-ten-minute wait was considerably more tolerable. Once Alfred had his cone and had settled into a seat under the large umbrella covering the majority of the food court, Arthur stole that opportunity to cover the child in another layer of sunscreen, knowing it would be a while before he got him to sit still in one place again.

Finishing his cone, Alfred returned to the pool in search of Matthew. Arthur joined Francis, who was relaxed in a reclining pool chair, sunbathing and watching the women who strolled by. He sat down beside him, picking up his book and consistently checking to make sure Alfred wasn't pushing Matthew too hard. The poor lad had been favored by Alfred right away and was the victim of most of his juvenile make-believe scenarios. It seemed that Matthew was always assigned the roll of the villain, being the only one that was ever attacked. It seemed like normal roughhousing between young children, until Alfred encouraged the kids around him to join in his game. Matthew was quickly cornered and swarmed by a group of older boys. Arthur jumped up to intervene, until Alfred ran in. He yelled something that failed to reach Arthur's ears and pulled Matthew away, frightened and confused. He distinctly heard Alfred cry out, "I'm the hero!" As well as the rest of the pool's populace.

It sluggishly grew into late afternoon, with the crowd thinning along with the time. Francis had interjected earlier when Matthew (not sunburnt, to Arthur's astonishment) began crying for Francis after growing too exhausted from Alfred's constant games and fantasies. A scantily-clad French man holding a sleeping toddler was, apparently, a magnet for women.

But Alfred, the social butterfly he was, met new companions almost immediately and carried out his adventures with them. His supply of energy never seemed to dwindle. Arthur had to remind Alfred about his cake waiting at home to pull him away from his new friends and out of the water.

**0o0o0o0**

"…happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Alfred-"

"-and _Mathieu_!" Francis tagged into the song.

"Happy birthday to you!" Arthur finished the song as Alfred and Matthew attempted to blow out the three candles that adorned the chocolate cake. Well, Alfred more than Matthew. Matthew, on the other hand, was merely trying to keep his eyes open. It had taken quite a bit of effort to wake him so he could partake in his birthday celebration. He had been out like the dead; exhausted from being dragged here and there by this child who was not familiar to him. Arthur hoped that the cake would give him one last energy spike so he could open whatever that was that Francis had brought along with them. He eyed the shiny package, Alfred's significantly smaller parcel resting along the other side of the chaise lounge.

Arthur took that chance to mention the gifts. "Hey, Alfred. See that box over there? Could you get it for me?"

Hastily, Alfred retrieved the package and brought it to Arthur. Who handed it right back, telling him to open it. Even Matthew perked up considerably at the mention of gifts. Francis followed his lead as he brought his box to his son, handing it to him. He had trouble with it, considering it was almost half his size. His high-pitched squeal rang through the room when he opened the box, containing an abnormally large toy polar bear.

Alfred did away hastily with the wrapping paper of his gift. Hidden inside that box was a great majority of Arthur and Allistor's friendship. The old toy soldiers, now chipped away and faded to dull hues of the colors that were once there, had been many hours of countless battles and juvenile immaturity between the two. He understood when Alfred's face fell from what was inside the box; they were old, coming from around the start of the Victorian era from an old toy shop Allistor's uncle owned. They were made of wood, that was now splintering in old age. They didn't light up or move or talk or anything that children liked. But he knew that, someday, he would cherish having those mementos of his father.

Arthur's sentimental internal monologue was interrupted by Francis laughing. "What is that? They look like a bunch of sticks!" Leave it to the damn frog.

"I will have you know that these are treasured heirlooms from-"

"What child wants 'treasured heirlooms' for their birthday? If your mother gave you your grandmother's vase on your tenth birthday, you would've thrown a fit!"

Arthur huffed, feeling a migraine coming on already, and went back to the kitchen to make his early evening cup of tea; he had previously missing his late morning, early afternoon, afternoon, mid-afternoon, and late afternoon tea, which felt almost as if it were going against his religion. His… tea religion.

When Arthur came back with his teacup, he was surprised to see Francis toting Matthew on his hip, the boy already asleep. Alfred was next to where Matthew must have been on the floor, dozing off quietly with his head resting on Matthew's birthday present.

Arthur handed Francis Matthew's stuffed bear after prying it out from underneath Alfred's head. "We had fun, _mon ami_. I was surprised when you called me about it."

"As was I."

Francis nodded gingerly, trying to move the sleeping head on his shoulder as little as possible. Both were uncomfortable with the silence that followed, so Francis took that chance for the two to bid their adieus and part. Arthur faintly heard him humming Alouette before closing the door behind them.

Alfred was curled over himself on the floor, already blanketed by deep sleep. It seemed that all of the sugar he took in over the course of the day ran dry, and, with the addition of skipping his afternoon nap, knocked him out almost instantly. When the Briton picked Alfred up, it was then that he truly noticed how much smaller he was than most boys his age. Thinking back, Matthew had nearly a head on him. Not to insinuate that his father was a tall man; he had only looked down at a quarter of the others they worked with. But he definitely wasn't the twig that Alfred was. Maybe he wasn't feeding him eno-

'Bollocks. You're crazy for even assuming that,' Arthur thought, shuddering at the image of how much food Alfred could go through in a day. For such a small body, especially.

Right before laying him down in the crib, Arthur reconsidered his action, recalling that morning. There was no point in putting him back in if he could climb out and possibly hurt himself.

Hoping that he wouldn't have an overly-dramatic fit to deal with in the morning like the first time he attempted the bed, Arthur carefully set the child down. For a moment, the Brit simply watched the child, having to listen carefully to catch his shallow breaths and snores. That boy had been through so much, yet he still maintained his childlike charm and humor. Maybe it was only because he wasn't old enough to fully grasp the situation with his parents. Or possibly, this kid was strong. Arthur considered it for a moment before remembering all of the work he pushed off that day to make room for Alfred's birthday. It would take him hours; perhaps all night. But he was glad he did it. Arthur brushed the blond hair away from Alfred's forehead and left to finish his neglected work.

**0o0o0o0**

AN: I think it's inevitable that Francis and Arthur will sound like an old married couple. I just enjoy their bickering too much.

I have a policy where, when I finish a chapter, I don't write anything for 24 hours. I just got World Series in the mail today and I'm _super pompé _to be able to relax and watch it! (Okay, I'll shut up now…)

Please remember to review if you enjoyed it! It helps me write when I know that someone's reading and enjoying it. So every review means a lot!


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